


Hunger Pangs

by wincechesters



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Episode: s05e14 My Bloody Valentine, M/M, Masturbation, Wing Kink, Wings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 08:05:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/923908
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wincechesters/pseuds/wincechesters
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam, Dean and Castiel investigate a series of mysterious deaths, beginning with a couple who ate each other to death in the throes of passion. They soon discover that the town is in the grip of Famine, one of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse. However, things get complicated when Castiel begins to be afflicted by an entirely different type of hunger... </p><p>An alternate version of 5x14: My Bloody Valentine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hunger Pangs

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kedawen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kedawen/gifts).



> A few lines taken directly from the transcript to 5x14, where the storyline overlapped. I own nothing; all characters, storylines etc. are the property of the writers.

Dean Winchester reclines on his bed in the latest dingy motel room, waiting for his brother Sam to come back from the St. James Medical Centre and entertain him, already. He doesn’t like being alone these days, because it gives him too much time to think, and thinking gets depressing when you’ve got things weighing on you like he does. A glance at the clock on the bedside table tells him that Sammy’s late, but with an MO as complicated as this, it’s not surprising. He probably found something else weird to check out while he was at the coroner’s. 

This had started off as your run-of-the-mill, people-eating-each-other-to-death sort of job. Everything was going smoothly, even though they were at a loss as to why a couple of lovebirds decided to have each other as their last meal. Dean and Sam had been hoping for an easy one, for something to distract them from what they’re trying desperately to avoid; that Michael and Lucifer are waiting in the wings, just looking for the invitation to slip into their meat suits. And it was working.

At least, it was working until Cas showed up.

Most of the time, they like having the angel on their shoulders. He makes one hell of an ace in the hole, with the juice he’s got. But sometimes, Cas has a way of complicating things. If this had been some regular job, if they hadn’t had to call Cas, things would’ve been much simpler.

But Sammy had spotted the enochi-whatever on the stiffs’ hearts and that was a clear job for Cas. Sure enough, Cas had told the incredulous brothers that the mark meant that a freaking cherub was responsible for this mess.

Dean rubs a hand over his face. Is it too much to ask that the freaking angel bullshit stay out of the way for once? A _cherub._ Friggin’ _Cupid_. Except at least the little winged fat kids on the Valentine’s Day cards wore diapers; the real thing was a lot older, a lot weirder, and a lot more nude. And with his luck, he’ll never get the gross touchy naked dude out of his head ever again.

He flicks on the tv in a desperate attempt to think of something – anything – else. Well maybe not anything - he doesn’t want to think about Michael and Lucifer and the Apocalypse and the whole fate-of-the-world-resting-on-his-shoulders thing, either. This is normally when he’d pick on his brother (after all, what are big brothers for), but Sammy’s not back from the coroner’s yet. He drums his fingers on the table between the two beds. No time for porn, and he has to wait for Sammy before he heads out to eat, not that he has any appetite whatsoever after seeing the bodies of two people who friggin’ _ate_ each other to death. He might not be hungry again for a while, and that’s saying something. Dean can always eat.

“They literally ate each other out,” he says to the empty room, the dumb grin dropping off his face when he remembers that there’s no one to appreciate his wit.

“Son of a bitch,” he grumbles, rolling off the bed and heading towards the bathroom.

He’d left the light on in the bathroom after washing his hands when he got back to the room. The door is mostly closed, with just a tiny sliver of light filtering through the gap. He puts his hand on the door to push it open…. and then stops.

There’s someone in the bathroom.

His gun is on the bedside table and Sam’s got Ruby’s knife, but he’s got a flask of holy water in the back pocket of his jeans, which he pulls out, his whole body thrumming with the adrenaline, the thrill of a possible fight. He touches the door gently, easing it open just a tiny bit more and peering in to get a look at the person in the room.

He sees a full head of short, messy, dark hair, and a white shirt spread tight across a lean back, clinging to the man’s skin damply. His back is to the door but Dean recognizes him now, even without the trenchcoat, which he spots crumpled on the floor in a heap. There is a weird shimmer in the air around the man, sort of like the distortion of heat waves, which Dean assumes is some kind of weird angel mojo thing. But what the hell is Cas doing in their hotel bathroom? Angels don’t poop.

And it hits him like a two by four to his stomach, as he watches the tense lines of Cas’ body, the quick jerk of his hand, the way the angel’s head tips back, eyes closed and mouth open to let out a gasp and a moan that brings a surge of heat welling up in the pit of Dean’s stomach. Cas is in their bathroom doing something no angel in the history of angels has ever done (as far as Dean knows). And it’s not pooping.

Castiel, angel of the Lord, is jerking off.

Dean knows he should close the door, make a noise, back away slowly and shake the image out of his head and never, ever mention it again. He needs to do something, anything but stand there, but he’s rooted to the spot, and there’s a tingling in his fingertips, and his mouth and throat have gone completely dry, and _holy crap_ does his dick think sticking around for this is a good idea.

Dean jumps when the door to the hotel bangs open, and Sam calls “Hey Dean,” dropping something big and heavy onto the table. Cas startles too, and his eyes dart up and over his shoulder to stare right straight at Dean, who flushes like a schoolgirl, eyes wide, still unable to look away.  And as he stares back into those big blue eyes, Cas’ surprise at seeing Dean watching him gives way to heat, and then he lets out this incredibly sexy noise and his eyelids bang shut again as his whole body tenses up –

Dean grabs the doorknob and slams the door, whirling to face his brother with his hands in his jean pockets, adjusting himself as surreptitiously as possible, trying to keep the steady stream of _whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck_ that’s running through his brain from showing on his face.

“What’s the word, Sammy?” he asks, trying to keep his voice steady as he moves around the partition towards the kitchenette where where his brother stands, staring down at a black briefcase on the table.

“I ran into a demon on the way back from the Medical Centre.”

“A demon!” Dean’s brow furrows confusedly. “Did you kill it?”

 “No, it got away.” Sam shuffles uncomfortably. “But he dropped this.” He waves one big hand at the case on the table.

“What the hell’s a demon got to do with this anyway?” Dean asks. “And while we’re at it, since when did demons become tax accountants and start carrying friggin _briefcases_?”

Sam shakes his head. “Believe me, I got no idea.”

Dean eyes his brother and can’t help but notice that he looks shaken, nervous. “You okay?” he asks gruffly.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be alright.”

He’s not sure he believes his brother, but Dean lets his eyes fall to the case on the table again. “Let’s crack her open,” he says. “What’s the worst that could happen, right?”

They each place a thumb over one of the clasps and flick them open simultaneously and the lid of the case bursts open. A white light streams out, searing their eyes, like looking straight into the sun, and they both throw up their arms to block it. Slowly the light fades until it’s gone, leaving nothing but an empty briefcase behind.

“What the hell was that?” Dean asks incredulously.

They both startle at the sound of a voice at their backs, turning quickly. “It’s a human soul,” Cas says. His trenchcoat is back on, and there’s no hint of his previous discomposure, besides the fact that he determinedly avoids Dean’s eyes. “It’s starting to make sense,” he mumbles towards the floor.

“A demon with a human soul in a briefcase? Now, what about that makes sense?” Sam casts a confused look towards his brother, his brows pinching together confusedly when he sees the flush on his brother’s cheeks.

“Dean caught me in a... compromising position, a few moments before you walked in,” Cas answers.

Dean’s closes his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Man, don’t _talk_ about it,” he says fervently. “Dudes don’t talk to other dudes about... _that_.”

“Talk about what?” Sam asks, his eyes wide with alarm. “What’s going on?”

“Dean,” Cas says severely, ignoring Sam’s questions, and Dean finally looks up to meet his eyes, hard chips of blue in the crappy hotel lighting. “Normally I’d be very happy to ignore the situation, but my arousal is an indicator of what we’re facing, and thus warrants discussion.”

 _“Arousal?_ ” Sam’s eyes look like they’re about to pop right out of his head. It’d be comical if the situation weren’t so horrifying. “Wait,” he says, incredulously, blinking slowly and giving his head a little shake before turning to Dean. “You caught Castiel... _masturbating?_ ” He looks back and forth between the two of them. “But, you’re an _angel._ Angels don’t _masturbate_.” Until recently, Dean would’ve agreed.

“Yes, I’m aware of that, Sam,” Cas answers carefully, as if Sam is slow. “That’s what I’m trying to tell you. This town is suffering from hunger. Starvation, to be exact - specifically, Famine.”

“Famine? As in, the Horseman?” Sam blinks, confused. “I thought famine meant like, starvation, like as in, you know, food.”

“Yes. Absolutely.” Cas nods solemnly. “But not just food. Everyone seems to be starving for something- sex, attention, drugs, love...” he pauses, and Dean thinks he sees Cas’ eyes dart towards him for a split second. “I have never felt this degree of arousal before. It’s my vessel, Jimmy. Apparently Famine has awoken his hunger for actions of a sexual nature.”

Aww, now that’s just something Dean doesn’t want to think about. It’s bad enough to imagine Cas getting himself off - Cas’ hand working quickly up and down his length, his thumb sliding over the tip slick with pre-come, his head tilting back in ecstasy, exposing the long line of his throat, those hot blue eyes boring into Dean’s before his orgasm hits him like a freight train - but it seems like another thing entirely with Cas’ vessel thrown into the mix.

“Okay, we’re done talking about this,” Dean says, gruffly, trying to push the thoughts of the sounds Cas had made and the movements of his hand from his mind.

One thing’s for sure; the naked angel on his mind that night definitely isn’t going to be Cupid.

* * *

Dean sits in the front seat of the Impala, watching the doors of the medical centre, waiting for the demon to leave with the soul of the coroner so he and Cas can follow him to Famine. He wishes, not for the first time, that Sam was in the passenger seat next to him. Normally he can count on Cas to get the job done - the angel soldier thing generally gives him a bit of an edge - but Cas seems unfocused, distracted. It makes Dean nervous. At least if Sam was here, they could worry about Cas’ focus together. But when Sam started craving demon blood... well, there’s no way Dean was going to let him go back down that road.

Cas appears in the passenger seat with the sound of fluttering wings, startling Dean, as usual. _Freakin’ Angels._ He scowls at Cas who stares unblinkingly back across the bench seat at him, making him fidget in his seat as the gaze becomes more and more heated. He can practically _feel_ the drag of Cas’ eyes over his body.

“Cas, man, you gotta stop staring at me like that,” he says, his voice strained. He holds up a hand between them as if Cas is too bright to look at and averts his eyes, staring pointedly at the Impala’s dashboard. He’s shocked when Cas’ hand touches his, pulling it down to rest on the seat between them. He risks a quick glance up, and notices that Cas has slid towards him, invading his personal space, as usual. He feels his heart start to race, a heat pooling in his belly at the look Cas is giving him.

“Why don’t you go... _take care of yourself_ , huh?” He raises his eyebrows pointedly, trying to ignore the stab of _want_ burning through him. “Then maybe you can stop staring at me for a minute and focus on the job we’ve gotta do.”

Cas shakes his head, his eyes never leaving Dean’s. “I’ve already done that dozens of times.”

Dean can’t help the way his eyes bug out. “ _Dozens?_ What are you, the Energizer Bunny?”

Cas cocks his head questioningly, and the gesture makes him look a little more like himself. It’s a relief, to see the familiar tilt of his head; it’s still the Cas he knows, even though his long, slender fingers are now edging stealthily towards Dean’s leg. “Is that a reference to the reproductive habits of rabbits in the wild? They do tend to be highly prolific.”

“Oh yeah, talk dirty to me, Cas,” Dean starts to joke, but it strangles in his throat as Cas’ fingers slide up over his thigh. “What are you doing?” he asks, swallowing hard, his own hands digging into the fabric of the seat cushion beneath him.

“I’m tired of finding pleasure with only my own hands, Dean. I want to try it with a partner now.”

Dean catches his fingers in his own, but Cas just pries him off, leaning to nuzzle the side of his neck. “Have you even tried to resist, Cas? Part of the deal is managing your urges, you know. Most people learn that in high school.”

“I’m an angel,” Cas says, his breath warm on Dean’s ear, sending a shiver down his spine, “I can stop anytime I want.”

“Then, maybe you should stop,” Dean says breathlessly, but he can’t help the moan that escapes him when Cas’ lips land on that sensitive spot just underneath the hard line of his jaw. He feels the scrape of that perpetual stubble against his neck and his eyes flutter shut at the contrast of Cas’ soft full lips and that rasp of shadow.

Cas’ pushes his hand up Dean’s thigh, sliding ever more slowly inwards until he’s dragging his slender fingers up the zipper of his jeans over Dean’s growing erection. His mouth lays a trail of hot, wet kisses just under the line of Dean’s jaw, and Dean tilts his head up to give him access, his breathing coming harsher at the press of Cas’ fingers and the dart of his tongue.

“What I don’t understand is-“ Cas’ lips move against Dean’s neck, the slightly dry surface tickling against his skin, voice low and husky- “where’s your hunger, Dean?”

He swallows hard. “I’ve got plenty of hunger right now, Cas,” he says gruffly, resisting the urge to tilt his hips to push himself into the hand working at the front of his jeans. Cas smiles as if he can sense what Dean is thinking, and licks his way up to Dean’s ear, where he catches the lobe between his teeth, making Dean gasp. A shiver runs through him, and his hands come up to clutch at Cas’ arm, his hip, whatever he can reach-

And then, with a handful of trenchcoat and a superb amount of willpower, Dean pushes the angel away from him. A noise of dissent slips from the back of Cas' throat, and he makes a move to put his hand back in Dean’s lap, but Dean holds him back.

“Cas, man, you know I want to - I mean, it’s pretty obvious - but I can’t.”

“Why not?” Cas asks. "We have a bit of time before the clinic closes and we can put our plan into action." His eyes, black in the dark interior of the Impala, dart down with a hungry glance to Dean’s mouth, his tongue darting out to wet his own lips. Dean swallows hard as he follows the gesture, finally prying his eyes away to focus somewhere around Cas’ left shoulder.

“Because it’s like Famine roofied you, man; you only want this because the Horseman’s here making you all horny. It’d be like taking advantage of you.”

Cas shakes his head. “I don’t know what ‘roofied’ means, but Famine doesn’t generate feelings of attraction; he only enhances the hunger that is already there.” He pauses, and his voice drops to a harsh whisper, “I’ve wanted this for a long time, Dean.”

Dean’s cock gives a hopeful twitch, and his fingers where they’re clenched in the fabric of Cas’ coat tighten involuntarily. He needs to stop Cas, stop himself, and he needs to do it now, before he gives in to the urge to launch himself at Cas and give him exactly what he’s asking for. “Tell you what,” he says, pushing Cas firmly back over to his side of the car, even though his body and a good portion of his brain seems to be in agreement that that is a very bad idea, “Let’s deal with Famine first, and once he’s out of the picture and your system is clear of the love drug, or whatever, then we’ll talk.”

Cas glares at him severely. “I have no interest in talking, Dean. What I want is to mate with you.”

Dean rolls his eyes, forcing down a grin. “Real romantic, Cas. You sure know how to get into a guy’s pants.”

“I think you are employing sarcasm, but I actually do know how to do that,” Cas replies, leaning back towards him.

“You want to go over the plan again?” Dean asks hoarsely as Cas nibbles along his jaw. “Hey, Cassanova,” he barks, trying to push the angel away from him, “the plan?

Cas’ mouth moves against Dean’s throat as he answers, “I take the knife, I go in, I cut off the ring hand of Famine, and I meet you back here in the parking lot.” His tongue darts out to lick at the shell of Dean’s ear before he reluctantly pulls away.

“Well that sounds foolproof,” Dean says, not exactly confident that Cas’ll be able to keep his eye on the ball this time. Cas sighs, casting one longing glance back at Dean before disappearing with the knife in hand.

Dean groans and adjusts his erection in his jeans, letting his head fall back against the backrest. He combs his hands agitatedly through his hair, mussed by Cas’ hands.

A regular old job, he thought, demonic possession, maybe vengeful spirit making people crazy, but who would’ve thought he’d end up necking with an angel in the front seat of his car like a couple of horny teenagers? Cas basically _is_ a horny teenager, no impulse control at all.

It’s not the _guy_ thing that throws Dean for a loop; far be it for Dean Winchester to turn down a willing partner, let alone a hot one like Cas. It’s the _angel of the Lord_ thing that gets him, and he’s not sure how he feels about it. (Pretty fucking awesome, says his dick, but Dean likes to think that his “upstairs brain” as Sammy says, has a bit more control in these situations).

But then Dean thinks of Cas’ lips on his neck, his graceful hand sliding up and down against the bulge in his jeans, that hot mouth sucking trails of heat across his jaw and teeth tugging insistently at his bottom lip. He groans again, dropping a hand to his lap and mimicking Cas’ movements. It’s not as good, not _nearly_ as good, and Dean _should_  be focusing on the task at hand. Someone needs to keep the finish line in sight.

Dean tries not to think of the obvious double entendre and fails.

His watch tells him that Cas has been gone for nearly ten minutes. “This is taking too long,” Dean says and steps out of the car, trotting hastily across the street and stepping cautiously into the Biggerson’s.

“Cas?” he whispers, and then again, louder, “Cas!” He turns the corner and there he is, pressed up against the wall - and he’s not alone. A tall, leggy blonde chick is sucking vigorously on his neck and the other, a shorter brunette with curves like an hourglass is tugging on his shirt to pull it from his dress pants, and both of them are rubbing their bodies against him wantonly like cats in heat. Cas’ eyes are shut, his head thrown back against the wall behind him, mouth open wide as he pants under their hands. The knife lies discarded and forgotten on the floor beside his foot.

“What the fuck, Cas!” Dean shouts and Cas’ eyes open wide to meet his. His pupils are blown wide with desire, and when he calls Dean’s name it sounds like a plea, but he can’t stop, his arms sliding tighter around the girls’ waists, drawing them closer to him. Dean feels a surge of jealousy rip through him as he watches those girls touch him so freely, like Dean wants to, like he didn’t know he wanted to until right then.

He’s too distracted and the demons are on him before he can even form a proper defense, and before he knows it, he’s being marched over and finding himself face to face with Famine.

Famine’s an old guy, a _really_ old guy, and he sits in one of those motorized wheelchair things with demons all around. He smiles widely, showing a mouth full of yellowed teeth. “The other Mr. Winchester.” He says, surveying Dean.

“What did you do to him?” Dean asks furiously, gesturing towards Cas and his groupies.

“You sicced your dog on  me,” Famine answers, “I just threw him a steak.”

Dean glares. “So this is your big trick? Huh? Making people cuckoo for cocoa puffs?”

If possible, Famine grins even wider. “Doesn’t take much – hardly a push. Oh, America- all-you-can-eat, all the time. Consume, consume. A swarm of locusts in stretch pants. And yet, you’re all still starving because hunger doesn’t just come from the body, it also comes from the soul.”

“It’s funny, it doesn’t seem to be coming from mine.” Not any more than usual anyway, except for this weird attraction he’s feeling to Cas. But then, that was there all along wasn’t it? He’d just refused to admit it before now.

Famine eyes him speculatively, as if Dean is a subject in some wacked out science experiment with unexpected results. “Yes, I noticed that. Have you wondered why that is? How you can even walk in my presence?”

“Well I like to think it’s because of my strength of character,” Dean retorts, flashing a cocky smile.

“I disagree.” Famine moves his hand on the joystick thing of his chair, and it starts forward, stopping only when he can reach out and touch Dean. “Yes, I see,” he says. “That’s one deep, dark nothing you got there, Dean. Can’t fill it, can you? Not with food or drink. Not even with sex!”

 _Well, maybe sex,_  Dean muses to himself. “Oh you’re so full of crap!” he throws at Famine.

Famine sneers back at him knowingly. “Oh, you can smirk and joke and lie to your brother, lie to yourself, but not to me! I can see inside you, Dean. I can see how broken you are, how defeated.” Dean’s stomach twists as the Horseman continues. “You can’t win, and you know it. But you just keep fighting. Just keep going through the motions.”

Dean tries to stare back defiantly, but he can feel the cracks starting to spread through his iron-clad facade. Famine can see it, and his smile grows wider, as he finishes, “You’re not hungry, Dean, because inside, you’re already... dead.”

“Let him go.”

Famine’s eyes dart over Dean’s shoulder and he and the demons holding him turn to see Sammy standing behind him. Dean’s heart sinks in his chest as he sees the smears of blood all over the lower half of Sam’s face.

“Sammy, no,” he moans. He’s failed again, failed to keep Sam safe, failed to take care of Famine and to keep Sam from the demon blood that he so desperately craved before Lucifer’s rising. How long had it taken them to get him straight again? The worst rehab anyone ever had to deal with. The pit in his stomach yawns wider, filling up with all his failures, all the things he can’t do, just like Famine said.

Famine is egging Sam on now, and Dean wants to punch him in the face, knock out a few of those gross yellow teeth. But Sam doesn’t bite, just raises his hand and yanks the sons of bitches right out of their meat suits, and when Famine sucks them down, Sam rips them out of him, too, leaving him a dry, broken shell in that motorized wheelchair.

Dean hears the door of the restaurant swing open and looks up to see the two girls that were all over Cas rush out the door. Guess that means the spell’s broken, or whatever. Cas meets his eyes briefly and then looks away at Sam, and Dean does the same. He can’t look at Cas, not after what Famine just said, and definitely not because he knows he’s right. He doesn’t know how to fill that emptiness; he can only hope for a distraction to get him through whatever the fuck is coming next.

Sam touches a finger to his nose and it comes away bloody, and Dean and Castiel each grab hold of one of his arms, catching him as he falls.

* * *

They get Sam back to Bobby’s in one piece, and he’s recovered faster than Dean likes. The demon blood makes his little brother far too powerful for his liking. It takes all three of them to get him inside the panic room, and he hates having to do it, hates hearing the pleas that Sam makes through the heavy iron door. He can’t stand to listen to it, to think about how Sammy suffered the last time, and how he will suffer again.

Dean pushes himself away from the wall without a backward glance at the door to the panic room or the angel standing to the side of it, ignoring Sam’s shouts from inside. He throws himself up the stairs and out the front door into the salvage yard.

He tries praying, even though he hates doing it, and of course, he gets no answer. So instead, he storms up and down the aisles of cars, looking for something, anything he can hit.

His fist crashes through the driver’s side window of a beat up old Ford, the glass slicing his knuckles as it shatters, and the pain is welcome. Anything is better than the crushing despair and emptiness he feels, thinking of the looming apocalypse, worrying about his little brother, not believing that his little brother will have the willpower to say no to Lucifer.

He slides to the ground besides the Ford, bloody hand clutched to his chest, throwing his head back to knock against the door of the car. He hates this, hates himself, hates fucking Michael and Lucifer and everyone in between. He can’t even keep Sammy from drinking demon blood; how is he supposed to save the world?

Before he knows it, he’s behind the wheel of the Impala, laying a pair of skid marks in the gravel as he peels out of the yard, Metallica cranked as high as he can get the stereo to go. He rips down the highway at reckless speeds, needing to feel something, to clear his head, to feel alive somehow. His knuckles throb and the blood seeps into the cuff of his shirt, but he doesn’t care, relishing the pain he feels as his hands tighten around the steering wheel.

“Dean.”

He jumps, jerking the steering wheel reflexively and barely managing to keep the Impala out of the ditch before he gets it back on track. He didn’t hear the sound of wings over his blaring stereo, and his heart pounds painfully as he casts a swift glance at Cas in the passenger seat.

“Fuck, Cas, you nearly killed us both, you know that?”

Cas shrugs one shoulder, his eyes staring straight ahead out the windshield at the path lit in front of them on the dark road by the Impala’s headlights. “I doubt that a car crash would cause me any permanent damage, and while you would be much more likely to be hurt or killed, Michael would never let you stay dead.”

He snorts derisively at Michael’s name. Not exactly the train of thought he wants to be entertaining right now. “Yeah, great comfort. I’m fucking invincible because Michael wants to wear me to the Prom.”

“It should be a comfort to you, yes,” Cas says, in that infuriatingly passive way of his. He casts a sidelong glance at Dean, eyes travelling over Dean’s split knuckles, the blood drying into his shirt.

“What are you doing here, anyway? Who’s watching Sam?” Dean asks gruffly.

“I asked Bobby to watch him,” Cas says simply.  “Why did you run out like that?”

“Cas, I just can’t deal with it right now, okay. I needed – I need a distraction. I can’t think about how fucked up this whole thing is.”

Dean shuffles uncomfortably under Cas’ x-ray stare. “Is this about what Famine said?” the angel asks.

“I don’t want to talk about it, okay? I don’t want to think about how I’m empty or whatever, or that Sammy can’t keep it together enough to stay off the demon smack,  or that I’m the only one standing between us and the end of the world. I need to just – I needed to get out and just drive.” He barks a laugh. “Actually, if you were still interested in a roll in the hay, now would have been a great time for that.”

Dean refuses to meet Cas’ eyes but he can feel his stare burning into him and he can feel his face flush in response. He wishes he’d kept his goddamn mouth shut.

“Pull, the car over, Dean.”

For the second time in five minutes, the Impala jerks violently towards the ditch as Dean’s hands spasm on the steering wheel in surprise. He rights the car, heart pounding again, and risks a glance at Cas. The angel’s eyes bore back into his, the levelness of his voice belying the heat burning into Dean’s skin.

“What? Cas, man, we’re in the middle of the fucking highway.”

“A _deserted_ highway, Dean. Find a place to park and pull the car over.” His voice is low, even lower and huskier than usual and it sends a jolt of heat lancing through Dean’s stomach.

Fuck. He doesn’t have the slightest clue what makes him do it, but that voice is fucking hot, and so is Cas’ gaze on him, so he whips the Impala into the nearest dirt road, slamming it into park and shutting off the ignition before turning slowly to face Cas.

The angel reaches slowly for Dean’s hand, prying it gently from the steering wheel. He strokes a thumb gently over the bloodied knuckles, then brings Dean’s hand up to plant a gentle, open mouthed kiss on the knuckle of his middle finger. And all the while those big blue eyes never leave Dean’s, and Dean can feel the heat pooling low in his belly.

“I guess you didn’t change your mind, huh?” Dean laughs huskily. Cas only shakes his head in response, and slides closer, his free hand coming up to circle the back of Dean’s neck. Dean can feel the blood pounding hard in his veins, a thrill rushing through them at Cas’ touch.

Cas bends his head under Dean’s jaw, gently nudging his chin upwards until he can drag first his teeth, then his tongue along Dean’s neck. His teeth rasp over Dean’s slight stubble, and he bites back a groan at the sensation, his hands fisting the fabric of his jeans, still unsure why he’s doing this and if he really should.

“Dean,” Cas mumbles huskily, his hand sliding up Dean’s neck to comb through the short strands of hair on the back of his head, “I wasn’t lying when I said that I’ve wanted this for a long time. That wasn’t Famine talking. He just gave me the last push I needed.”

Dean feels like his skin is burning, and he shifts uncomfortably, already half-hard, and they haven’t even hardly started touching yet. “You know, it doesn’t have to be me,” he says, giving Cas one last out, “I saw you with those girls at Biggerson’s. We could try and get you a hooker again, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

Cas pulls back to look at him, and those eyes travel hungrily from Dean’s, skimming his cheekbones and coming to rest on his full lips. Cas’ tongue darts out to wet his own lips and Dean has to stifle a groan, clutching hard at the sides of his jeans. “No, Dean. _That_ was just Famine’s effect on my vessel. This desire for you, is _not._ ”

Then Cas leans forward, slowly closing the distance between them until his mouth presses against Dean’s. It’s a soft touch, questioning, in spite of the hunger that Dean can feel in the tension of Cas’ entire body, the hot rush of Cas’ breath against him. Dean lets his mouth open under the gently insistent press of Cas’ lips, and he feels Cas’ tongue slide out to caress his top lip before darting inside.

He can’t hold back his groan anymore, and that’s all the encouragement Cas needs. He releases Dean’s hand and knots both hands in the hair at the back of Dean’s head. Dean is shocked by his enthusiasm, but fucking excited too, and he grabs at the lapels of that dumbass trenchcoat and pulls Cas even closer, wanting to feel their bodies pressed together, feel what Cas feels like under those awful fitting clothes.

For the first time in what seems like forever, Dean isn’t thinking about the Apocalypse. He’s not worried about Sammy, he’s not worrying about those dicks Michael and Lucifer. All he can think about is Cas, and the feel of the slick slide of their tongues together and the desperate sounds the angel’s making and the way his hands clutch him like a lifeline.

Dean lets one hand drop to Cas’ lap, wrapping his fingers around the outline of his erection, straining insistently against the front of his dress pants. He presses hard around it with his fingers, letting his thumb work over the head, loving the muffled moans that Cas releases into his mouth and the way his hips buck up against his hand.

He pulls back, ignoring Cas’ petulant whine and the tug of his hands in his hair, and slides down to unbutton Cas’ pants. He pulls out Cas’ erection, feeling the weight of him in his palm, and lets his eyes slide up to meet Cas’, staring hungrily down at him. His hips twitch almost involuntarily upwards, and Dean lets a wicked grin spread across his face before he lowers his head and slides his mouth down around Cas’ cock.

The strangled sound that Cas utters is probably the hottest fucking thing Dean has ever heard in his life, and he feels his own dick twitch in response. Cas’ hands slide back into his hair, his fingers clenching as Dean slides his mouth down to take as much of Cas as he can, fisting the rest in his hand. He sucks hard, then releases to swirl his tongue around the head, flicking the ridge on the underside before sliding down again and hollowing his cheeks.

Cas lets out a strangled groan, fighting to keep his hips from thrusting upward. Dean hums happily around him and lets his eyes flick up to meet Cas’. He’s startled when he sees a sort of weird shimmering in the air around him, the same distortion he saw in the bathroom when he caught Cas going to town on himself.

Then Cas is yanking upwards on his hair, and the words “Dean, I need... I need...” are falling feebly from his lips as his head falls back with a thump against the passenger window.

Dean slides his mouth off of Cas, teasing the slit with his tongue before asking, “What do you need Cas? Tell me,” in his best pornstar voice. He sees Cas’ adam's apple bob up and down as he swallows hard, and he looks down at Dean again with an intensity in his eyes that makes Dean’s throat go dry.

“It’s too tight in here; I need more space,” he says, cryptically, and Dean assumes it means he wants to move more or get dirtier which is totally fucking fine by him. He reaches over behind Cas and fumbles the door handle open with the vague idea that they can get back in the back seat and have more room to stretch out. Cas stumbles out and Dean scrambles over the seat to slide out the passenger side after him.

Dean’s disoriented for a minute, but he locates Cas at the front of the Impala, leaning against the hood. His coat is already off, spread out on the hood beneath him, and Dean watches as his hands move to the collar of his shirt, removing the tie and throwing it carelessly to the side, and then back to his throat to begin undoing the buttons on his shirt. Those slender fingers work quickly, tugging until the shirt comes free of his pants and letting it slip down his arms and fall forgotten on the ground.

The moonlight is bright, shining down and painting the skin of Cas’ bare back in ethereal light like the angel he is, ghostly and otherworldly and really fucking beautiful. He tilts his head from side to side slowly, rolling his shoulders as though stretching, and Dean watches the taut muscles play beneath the skin, his hands itching to touch. The bastard is clearly putting on a show with the intent to tease, and it’s working. Dean wants to bite at the juncture of Cas’ neck and shoulders, to run his hand along the muscles of that strong, lean back, feel them move beneath his hands as Cas clutches at him too.

And then, unfurling slowly with the roll of his shoulders, Cas’ wings ripple into being and suddenly Dean can’t breathe.

This is the first time he’s seen the wings in their tangible form, not just a shadow on the wall, but actual, honest to God _wings_. The glossy black feathers flutter gently as Cas stretches them out as wide as they will go, moonlight shimmering on the edges. The muscles of Cas’ back are flexed beneath them, and they span at least twice the width of Dean’s car. Now Dean understands why Cas said he needed more space, and he thinks he knows what that shimmer was that he could see around Cas before. Maybe later he’ll find it in himself to be weirded out by angel wing boners, but right now, it’s just _hot_.

A strangled sound escapes from Dean’s throat and Cas looks back over his shoulder at him. “Come here, Dean,” he commands, his voice husky and deep, and his eyes burning. He obeys, coming around the car to stand in front of Cas, cock achingly hard as he surveys the firm planes of Cas’ lithe body. This is full-on angeled-out Cas, and it’s at once impressive and terrifying and reassuring, because those wings and that commanding look on his face has nothing to do with his vessel. That’s pure _Castiel_ right there, and Jesus _Fucking_ Christ is it hot.

He lurches forward as Cas’ hands fall to his belt and bats his hands away, wanting to rip Cas’ pants and boxers off himself.  He does, and he drinks in the sight of Cas, laid completely bare for him.

“What do you want, Cas,” Dean asks, his voice raw. “Do you want me to suck you off, like I was doing in the car? Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want to fuck me?” The last is said hopefully, because the power rippling off Cas in waves with the gentle beat of those freaking _awesome_ wings makes Dean want to be fucked until he screams.

“I want to feel you inside me, this time,” Cas whispers, his eyes hard and demanding, and yeah, that’s a perfectly acceptable plan to Dean, too, as long as he can get his hands in those feathers and his mouth on that body and do something about the aching in his balls and the pulsing in his swollen dick. Who needs Famine, anyway? This hunger is more than enough, too much, even, burning at his insides and threatening to blow him into tiny little pieces.

He lurches forward, his mouth crashing into Cas’, his arms coming around Cas’ body like a vice, nails clutching hard at his back. Cas pushes him back, ignoring Dean’s growl, so he can yank Dean’s shirt over his head. Cas’ breath catches in his throat, his whole body going still as his eyes fall on Dean’s shoulder. Following his gaze, Dean sees that Cas is staring at the burn scar on his shoulder in the shape of a handprint, seared into his skin when Cas pulled him out of Hell.

“Oh yeah, that,” he mumbles, hunching under Cas’ gaze and drawing back self consciously. But Cas stops him, reaching his hand up and slowly, reverently, fits his slender fingers one by one to the marks of his own hand.

Suddenly, Dean can’t remember how to breathe. The angel’s eyes flicker back up, and the look on his face - hard, hot, possessive - makes Dean’s mouth go dry and his body fill with a curling heat, before they come together in a furious clash of lips and tongues and teeth.

Dean draws back with a gasp and Cas ducks under his jaw, licking up to suck on his earlobe. He makes short work of Dean’s pants and boxers next and wedges a knee between Dean’s, and Dean groans at the exquisite feel of Cas’ muscular thigh pressing against his cock.

His arms slide around Cas’ body, and he sighs when he finally has a handful of Cas’ feathers in each hand, tangling them in his fingers and clutching them tight. Cas moans and starts to rut against Dean’s hip, just as Dean works himself against Cas’ leg. Dean can feel the heat building in the pit of his stomach and he pulls back; it’s too soon, and he wants to come inside Cas, with Cas crying out beneath him and that power crashing all around them.

There’s lube in the duffel in the trunk of the Impala, and Cas gets it and is back in the circle of Dean’s arms before he has time to miss the angel’s heat. Cas turns, bracing his hands against the hood of the car, arching his ass into Dean’s cock and rubbing up and down sinfully, as Dean’s eyes threaten to roll back into his head. “Now, Dean, I want you inside me, I want to feel you filling me,” he says huskily, looking back over his shoulder at him.

Dean fists his own cock in one hand, working himself slowly as he admires the curve of Cas’ back, the graceful arch of his wings, spreading from between his shoulder blades. He runs a hand down the groove between the muscles over Cas’ spine, stopping only to slick his fingers, before he is sliding one inside Cas’ opening.

Cas’ head tilts backwards, eyes closed and mouth open. His wings close tight around his body, and as Dean works Cas open slowly, stomach dropping and cock twitching at the clench of his muscles down below, they relax slowly again, with the rest of Cas’ body.

Dean adds a second finger and then a third, and before long, Cas is bucking backwards against Dean’s hand. “Yeah, Cas,” Dean breathes reverently, “fuck yourself on my fingers.” Cas’ back, smooth and strong, ripples as he pushes back harder against Dean’s hand.

“ _Dean,_ ” Cas whines insistently, _“now.”_ And that’s all the encouragement he needs. He slides his fingers out and slicks his length hurriedly, and lines himself up at Cas’ entrance.

And as he slides home, Cas’ wings snap to their full span on either side of Cas body, the short feathers standing straight up, ruffled and erect, while the long ones twitch flare around the edges, and he lets out a sound that almost makes Dean come right then.

With a supreme force of will, Dean holds still, trembling with the effort as Cas adjusts to Dean filling him. He drops his mouth to Cas’ back, sliding his hands around Cas’ body to hold him hard against him, mouthing and kissing and licking his shoulder blades and the space between, his fingers caressing the planes of Cas’ chest, sliding to tease his nipples.

Finally, after what seems like an eternity, and at the same time, only a heartbeat, Cas reaches back over his shoulder and grasps a handful of Dean’s hair and says, his voice harsh and throbbing with pleasure and power, “ _Move,_ Dean.”

Dean obeys, sliding out slowly and back into place, feeling Cas clench around him. He finds a slow, steady rhythm, pulse pounding with pleasure, that insistent heat building deep in his belly. He lets his right hand drift down slowly over Cas’ belly as he continues to thrust, down and down until he can wrap his fingers around Cas’ cock.

He fists Cas’ dick, his hand still slick from lube working over Cas’ length in time with his thrusts. The other hand touches Cas wherever he can reach, his nipples, his hips, his arms. He turns his face, pressing as much of himself against Cas’ back as he can, feeling the feathers, both soft and hard at once, against his cheek and his moan makes them tremble and flutter.

“Cas,” he moans achingly, feeling that heat building, his balls tightening up, and his rhythm starts to go off. He slides his hand faster up and down Cas’ length, pounding into him from behind and working his cock in front, and then Dean bites down hard on the joint of Cas’ wing, and suddenly Cas is coming in hot spurts over Dean’s hand, crying out Dean’s name, and the sound and the clench of Cas down below tilts Dean over the edge too and he clutches Cas hard to him, eyes wrenched closed as he breathes hard into Cas’ skin and feathers.

Cas collapses on his coat, still spread over the hood of the Impala, taking Dean with him. His wings stretch languidly out to either side, wing tips trailing down to the ground, and Dean pulls out and lays gently against Cas’ back,  enjoying the feeling of their bodies pressed flush together. He stretches his arms out and lays them gently over Cas’ wings, and they lie like that for a long time, one like the shadow of the other.

“Jesus,” Dean breathes eventually into the space between Cas’ shoulder blades, his breath ruffling the small, soft feathers around his face at the juncture of skin and plumage.

“No, Castiel,” the angel answers, and Dean thinks he detects a hint of amusement in his voice. He rolls his eyes, but laughs nonetheless, feeling a surge of affection well up inside him.

“Yeah, Cas. You sure know how to distract a guy.” He turns his head to press a kiss to Cas’ back, eliciting a happy sigh from the angel beneath him.  He hopes that no one decides to turn down this little dirt road because he must paint quite a picture, sprawled across the hood of the car, naked ass up, stretched out over the back of an angel.

A stinking _hot_ angel, by the way.

He rolls off of Cas and clambers further up onto the Impala’s hood, and Cas flips over too so he can look up at him. Dean shivers and Cas curls one of his wings around Dean’s naked body, sheltering him from the night’s breeze. Dean leans down and nuzzles Cas’ neck in thanks, kissing the bolt of his jaw gently.

“So, we going to do that again next time I need to take my mind off of things?” Dean jokes against Cas’ neck, keeping his tone light even though he really, really wants to do that again. Soon. And often.

“No,” Cas says shortly, and Dean feels disappointment and embarrassment flare up in his belly.

“Oh, okay, that’s cool, man.” He tries to sit up with a vague idea of finding his pants and getting the hell out of there, but Cas forces him back down with his wing, the feathers, surprisingly strong, curling around Dean’s body and trapping him. Suddenly Cas is looming over him, and there is a dark, hungry look in his eyes as his gaze roams over Dean’s face and down over his body, then back up to meet his eyes.

“No, I don’t want to do _that_ next time, Dean,” Cas says, pausing to tease the seam of Dean’s lips with his tongue. “Next time, I’m going to fuck _you_.”

**Author's Note:**

> This work is a gift for the lovely arxettutissimanobis. Thank you for encouraging me, for fangirling with me and for being the bestest bestie anyone could ask for. Sorry you had to beta your own present, but thank you so very much for doing it, nonetheless! I hope you enjoyed it; the wings are for you, my love <3.
> 
> This is my first Destiel, my first M/M, and my first decent length piece for the Supernatural fandom. Thank you so much for reading and I hope you enjoyed it; please let me know what you think!
> 
> I'm wincechesters over on tumblr; come say hi!


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